


A Soul That's Born in Cold and Rain

by theatretechlesbian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin Blackwood Loves Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, also istg it took me longer to get a jon/martin tag than it did to write this, because apparently that has to happen in everything i write, jon being carried again, jon smokes, listen i love georgie barker, mans got stabbed, that woman deserves every good thing this world has
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatretechlesbian/pseuds/theatretechlesbian
Summary: Martin gets lost walking home, stumbles across Jon in a less than ideal state. (By which I mean, they've been mugged.)Set at the beginning of Season 3, Jon hasn't really started their avatar ritual antics yet.Content Warnings in the End Notes
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 142





	A Soul That's Born in Cold and Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Sunlight' by Hozier.
> 
> working title for this was "if you have a stab wound, i dont want to see it until its relevant to the plot thank u very much"

It hadn't been a particularly cold winter, but this particular night was well below freezing. The rare smattering of snow that would bring London to a stop hadn't been seen yet, but it was cold enough and wet enough that icy puddles and frosted railings were causing pedestrians distress.

Martin was cold. Really fucking cold. There had been crisp wintery sunlight as he had left his flat that morning, so he'd left with just a scarf and coat, deciding against the full hat and gloves ensemble. He didn't exactly foresee that he would be spending his evening wandering the streets of the city, with no incentive and no idea where he was.

He had intended to walk to his normal tube station, jump on, and get home as soon as possible. But one thing led to another, with train delays and road works, and he had started walking instead. It had gotten dark long before Martin had left the Institute for the day, but somehow, with the cold starting to seep in through his coat, and his ears burning with the frosty air, the night sky seemed to be bearing down on him, smothering the streets in darkness. Doing what he did, and know what he knows, this encompassing darkness had put Martin on edge.

His phone had died, but a legible road sign would be a good start, or failing that, asking someone where the hell he was. Martin was getting more and more anxious about his location, remembering just how big London was if you were somewhere you didn't know.

He turned the corner, hoping that he would be turning onto some crowded street, full of people shopping and walking. What he found wasn't quite the populated area he wanted, but it was at least well lit, with a small newsagents tucked in between the worn buildings. The neon of the signs almost blinded Martin to the pitch black alleyway next to it. In fact, he wouldn't have seen it at all if he hadn't heard that noise.

There was a sharp, hacking cough coming from the alley. It sounded human, and it sounded like they were in pain. Every instinct in Martin's bones was telling him to keep walking, someone else will deal with it, they could be dangerous.

But there was no one else on the street, no one else coming to help.

"Hello?" He called out, not wanting startle whoever was clearly coughing up their lungs. "Are you ok?" _Stupid question, Martin._

  
The coughing stopped. There was an odd wheezing sound, that Martin realised was the person trying to talk. It was followed by a sort of shuffling, and suddenly Martin could see movement. He couldn't help but take a cautious step back as the person stumbled forward, but as they moved stiltedly into the light of the streetlamps, he found that they looked an awful lot like-

"Jon?"

Their voice was dry and fantastically, beautifully familiar. "Martin? What are you doing here?" 

"I got lost walking home." Martin frowned. That was a more candid explanation that he intended to give. "I could ask you the same thing! Loitering in some random back alley."

They started to laugh, but it turned all too quickly into another rasping cough. "Christ Jon, are you ok?"

He moved towards them, offering a hand, but Jon waved him off. "F-fine. I'm fine." 

Martin really didn't believe them. He'd known Jon long enough to know that they didn't always say what they meant, for a multitude of reasons. There was also a litany of evidence to the contrary.

The hand that wasn't held across their body protectively was shaking as it flexed, fidgety and restless. Their shoulders shivered every couple of seconds, either from the cold or some unknown insidious reason Martin didn't want to entertain. Then there was Jon's face. Martin knew their face fairly well, all things considered (things such as almost two years of crushing on them). But Jon looked more tired than Martin had seen him, to date. Their face was thin, and the dark grey bags underneath their eyes was painfully obvious in the light of the streetlamps. It was probably a mix of involuntary insomnia and self-inflicted overworking on whatever they had been doing whilst not at the Institute. 

As Martin regarded them, skepticism and concern probably evident in his face, Jon shakily retrieved an unopened packet of cigarettes from their pocket. They looked around nervously. "Would you be alright if I smoked?"

Martin strengthened his resolve. "Only if you tell me what happened."

Jon smiled wryly at this, a sight that Martin had missed dearly. Some of their dry humour was filtering through the exhaustion visible on their face, and it was a welcome view. "And would you prefer my statement of what happened before I was wanted for murder, or of what happened before you stumbled across me? Because the former might take more than one cigarette."

Martin took a moment. It sounded stupid, but in his surprise and happiness at seeing Jon again, he'd forgotten that his boss was a _literal murder suspect_. Not that Martin had ever truly believed Jon had killed the man in his office, but still. 

_Mum always did say I had no self-preservation instinct_ , Martin thought idly as he considered his choice.

"Tell me about right now." he said, getting the feeling that the other story would probably require him to be sitting down.

Jon tentatively removed their hand from where it had been holding his side. Martin was still suspicious, but wouldn't press further just yet. They were obviously well enough to stand by themselves at the moment, and it might have just been that they were cold. Then how paranoid would he look?

(Somewhere, not more than a few metres away, there was a tape recorder, manifesting and whirring away.)

Despite their shaking hands, the cigarette was lit quickly in a practised action, and the golden lighter and packet were returned to Jon's coat pocket, along with the hand once again clutching their side.

"Well, if I'm totally honest, it's probably my fault. I stopped smoking years ago you know, after my grandmother died. There's some irony, I think, in the fact that I got through the worms and Prentiss without smoking, but a normal human murder sets me back." 

They made an indecipherable face. "That's not relevant. Obviously as a murder suspect, I can't exactly keep heading to the same shops. Geo- the person I'm staying with, she doesn't mind me smoking, she just won't buy them for me. Makes sense to her, I'm sure, in some convoluted way. Not feeding a bad habit, but not denying what little comfort it gives. "

Jon shook their head slightly, almost fondly.

"So I needed to go somewhere new, hence my presence outside this rather remote shop. However, I couldn't exactly foresee that there would be someone who rather wanted to possess whatever was in my wallet. It wasn't exactly much, given my current situation. Certainly no ID, for which I'm glad."

Jon paused at this point. It must have been very odd to them, Martin realised. He knew this wasn't a statement proper, but it wasn't often that Jon just talked, uninterrupted. About themselves, at least.

"Got my cigarettes though." They took a pointed drag, exhaling slowly into the cold night air.

Martin parsed through what they had just said. His voice was incredulous. "Did you...Are you saying you got mugged? And just stayed in the alleyway?"

Jon opened their mouth, as if to try and defend themselves, before thinking better of it. "I suppose so."

At some point within their retelling, Jon had begun to lean against the brickwork at the mouth of the alley. Martin had more questions, of course he did, but right now, his priority was getting Jon somewhere warm and safe.

"Can I walk you back to-" he realised he had no idea where Jon was staying. "to wherever you're hiding out at the moment?"

There was a brief moment of disbelief in their eyes. "Martin, you should really go. I don't want you, or anyone else in the Archives to be in trouble just because you know where I'm resting my head at night."

Martin scowled. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much." 

All too suddenly though, his situation before he'd found Jon popped back into his mind. He sighed, regretting immediately what he'd just said. "And... I have no idea where I am."

Jon let out a small half laugh. It was a lovely sound. They both smiled at each other. 

"I guess you can take me as far as the tube station. You won't be lost then, at least."

Martin hummed in approval at this, watching as Jon used their free hand to push away from the wall. They shuffled their feet, evening out their weight, as if preparing to walk some great distance.

They took three unconvincing, swaying steps before Martin intervened. "Please let me help you."

Jon nodded, and Martin gingerly put an arm around their waist. He didn't expect the response he got. 

"Ah - _fuck!_ " Jon's entire body jerked and Martin retracted his arm as quickly as he could. Jon returned to leaning against the wall, more obviously this time and with no attempt to hide what they were doing. Martin was about to ask what was wrong, but he made the mistake of looking down at his hand first.

His now bloody hand.

"Jon are you _bleeding_?" If he wasn't so worried, Martin would be furious. They had stood there, having an entire conversation, and Jon had just failed to mention that they were wounded, and quite badly if it was bleeding through their jacket like that. 

Jon gave a weak smile. "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't notice." Martin's mouth dropped open. "You- I can't believe, you were, I-"

He took a breath, collecting his words and trying (and failing) not to sound negative. "You were really going to just wait until I left, and then what? Bleed out in an alleyway? And what if I hadn't turned up, would you have just stayed where you were?"

They did at least have the decency to look sheepish, and Martin regretted his tone. 

"Where can I take you?" he asked, levelling his voice. It wasn't Jon's fault they were, what, stabbed?

"I've been staying with an old friend, it's not far, but..."

"But what?"

They made an apologetic face. "I don't honestly think I can walk the whole way."

Martin frowned. "Then," he considered it for a moment, "I'll just carry you."

A strangled noise escaped Jon's throat, setting off the coughing again. Martin tentatively held his hand to their back, trying to offer support without hurting them. He wasn't sure if it was the light or the cold, but there seemed to be a hint of red on Jon's cheeks.

The coughing subsided eventually, and Martin opened his arms. "Let's get you someplace warm."

  
He scooped Jon up, one arm around their shoulders (consciously avoiding the wound that he still hadn't seen), and the other underneath their knees. He doubled checked that Jon was keeping pressure on their side, with both hands this time, and began walking, stopping seconds later.

"So...where am I going?"

Jon chuckled lightly, and Martin cradled them inwards at the sound, protective nature kicking in. "Head to the left. We can walk parallel to the main road, don't want to attract too much attention."

Martin followed their instructions, trying his best to keep Jon level. Their head was rested against his chest, and they winced every now and then, sometimes where they had been jostled. Jon was right; Martin hadn't been walking for long when they pointed out a small block of flats. He bent down, putting Jon down next to the doorbells. They leant against the wall, hands pressed against their side, much like they had before. "I can probably make it from he-" they started.

"Does this place have a lift?"

Jon looked confused. "Uh, no? Why would i-"

"I just watched you take three steps and look like you were gonna crumple, and you think you can make it up however many flights of stairs?"

That same slightly embarrassed look from earlier passed across their face.

"Have you got keys?"

Something in their eyes was empty. Jon was staring blankly past Martin, looking like their head was too heavy to hold. They started to squint, eyes unfocused.  
This, understandably, worried Martin.

"Listen Jon, I know you didn't want me to know, but who are you staying with? I need their name." He scanned the names by the doorbells in the vague hopes that he would recognise one. He didn't.

It was at this point that Jon started to slide down the wall, and Martin panicked. He put a hand behind them, propping them up. "What is the name? Stay with me now."

It took a moment, but something seemed to click in their eyes. "Barker. Georgie."

Martin had never pressed a doorbell with more urgency. The odd little speaker crackled, and a woman's voice filtered through.

"Hello? Jon?"

"I've got him here, it's Martin, I've got Jon right here." He doubted this Georgie would know his name, but it was worth a try.

"It's open, fourth floor."

With speed that surprised him, Martin picked Jon back up, although they were far more lax in his arms this time. He was worried about any pressure on their wound, pretty sure that Jon's hands were more likely just laying on top now instead of applying any force.

It was most likely the adrenaline that prompted Martin up those four flights of stairs, as in any other situation he can't imagine it would have been pretty. Georgie Barker met him on the third flight, anxious face turning to terror as she saw Jon's bloody hands in the fluorescence of the stairwell. It didn't take long from that point to get Jon back in her flat. 

Georgie cleared the table she had, pushing papers and rogue tapes onto the floor. Martin placed Jon down as gently as he could as Georgie retrieved a first aid kit and a wet cloth from under the sink, somewhere behind him.

  
  
In the proceeding 30 minutes it took to deal with Jon's wound, cleaning and bandaging it, Martin felt like he had a pretty accurate look in on Georgie's character. He had helped her remove Jon's jacket, but she cut away their t-shirt without a second thought, clearing the way to the source of the blood. In the moments he wasn't pressing down on it with gauze, he looked at the wound. It looked like someone had tried to stab them in the gut, but missed, instead catching their waist and cutting the t-shirt, presumably where Jon's coat had been unbuttoned.

It was Georgie, however, not Martin, that actually sewed up the flesh. Martin had done first aid courses, sure, but the way Georgie stitched the wound closed, with hands unshaking and steady, was, in a word, amazing. She seemed pragmatic, sensible, and completely unafraid.

Martin wished he could say the same. Jon had snapped out of their daze a couple of times during Georgie's surgery, swearing more than Martin had ever heard. He supposed it was rather called for, given the situation. 

But now, his boss was lying still on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and most likely high on painkillers. Martin wasn't sure what Georgie had given them, but it certainly worked fast.

He himself was sat at the kitchen table, having cleaned any blood off the wooden surface, watching over Jon. Georgie sat opposite him. His fingers were itching with anxiety, desperate for something to do, to hold. So he did what he always did in stressful times like these. "Would you mind if I made a cup of tea?"

Georgie nodded, walking over to the cupboards with him to point out the teabags and sugar. "Milk, no sugar if you don't mind...Martin."

The way she said his name was odd, like she was mulling it over. 

Martin didn't think too much of it, instead choosing to lose himself in the well known action of boiling the kettle, adding the sugar (to his own mug) and stirring. He finished the mugs, setting one down on the work surface next to where Georgie had perched herself and was now sitting cross-legged on the counter top.

The silence was becoming unbearable for Martin. He tried his best to make his voice sound casual, and as if he hadn't just turned up at her door with a half-conscious body. "So how do you know Jon?"

Georgie made a noise that could only be described as a giggle. It seemed out of place in the subdued and quiet atmosphere of the flat, but her smile comforted Martin, giving a sense of normalcy. "We dated for a couple of years in uni."

Martin's eyes widened. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you guys were..." He trailed off, watching Georgie's confused face and subsequent understanding.

"No! No, no it's not like that. We're just friends."

Martin very almost let out a relieved sigh, only stopping himself at the last second. He'd quite accepted his feelings for Jon, but that didn't mean that they weren't free to do whatever or whoever they wanted. _Except that Jon doesn't actually do people like tha-_

He blinked that train of thought away. "Cool, that's....cool." (If Martin's voice was a note or two higher than his usual pitch, well, that was his business.)

"They've talked about you a lot, you know. They've been worried." Georgie continued talking as if Martin's brain wasn't short circuiting at those words. "I know, probably better than most, that Jon has a tendency to be...prickly."

Martin scoffed. He'd figured that one out on his first day at the Archives, sometime between the lost dog and the mess of statements.   
"But!" She smiled fondly. "For all their barbs, they don't mean half of them. Jon's been unsociable for as long as I've known them, but they're not...incapable. There was this one time at uni, after some drunk all-nighter..."

Martin was listening, but if you asked him to recount Georgie's story he wouldn't be able to. He found himself once again watching Jon, the slow rise and fall of their chest and the furrowed brow as they slept on the sofa. Somewhere on the floor, there must have been a worn hairband, as Jon's hair was currently all over the cushion. The grey in it seemed to be more prominent every time Martin saw them. 

The blanket, that had initially been firmly tucked underneath Jon's chin, had begun to fall away, revealing Jon's bare shoulder. Martin knew that the worm scars were bad, he'd caught Jon scowling in any reflective surface for a while after the Prentiss incident, but he hadn't realised quite how extensive the damage at been. There were marks up and down their arms and shoulder, a mixture of pale, silvery circles, and red angry welts. He could almost tell which bites had been picked at, the scar tissue nowhere as healed as those that would be covered more often. 

Something in Martin reminded him that this was his boss, he probably shouldn't be staring at their uncovered arms. His eyes instead floated along back to looking at Jon's face. The scars were there too, on their cheek and down their neck and collarbone. Martin's head felt heavy, both with worry for Jon, and fatigue from the day.

"...and then we were all killed horribly by space pirates. Martin?"

"Wh-what?" He snapped back to see Georgie's smile, knowing and kind. 

"It's late, it's," she leaned sideways on the counter, looking past Martin to a clock on the wall, "-past midnight even!"

A feeling of discomfort grew in him at this, _I shouldn't have stayed so late, probably wasn't entirely welcome anyway, I doubt Jon wanted any more of the Archives in this flat than strictly necessary and then I turned up._ "I should get going, head home."

Georgie looked at him as if he had just said something nonsensical. "Martin, I don't know where you're heading, but I do know that the tubes don't run this late, and you look dead on your feet."

She paused, considering something for a moment. "If you can get Jon into bed, you can stay on the sofa, no worries."

Martin was starting to understand why Jon dated this woman. "You barely know me."

"That's what you think. I know enough to comfortably say that I would more likely find you making tea in the morning than stealing my debit card."

He wanted to argue, decline as politely as he could, say he could grab a taxi or walk, but there was a confidence in Georgie's eyes that abided no discussion. That, and the ache from carrying Jon several streets and up four flights of stairs was starting to kick in. He nodded weakly, heading over to the sofa.

For the last time that night, he scooped Jon up, blanket and all, and followed Georgie down the hallway. Jon seemed to be in that limbo between wake and sleep, not fully aware of their surroundings. They curled into Martin, settling their head against his chest. Martin decided to ignore the quiet flutter in his heart.

He gently deposited Jon on the bed a little unceremoniously. His limbs were protesting, but he figured it was worth it to see Jon safe. He left the room quietly, leaving Georgie to turn out the light. She had made him feel welcome, but there was still that small voice in his brain telling Martin that he was intruding.

That voice remained as Georgie chucked him a thick blanket and pillow, bidding him goodnight. It was also there when he woke up in the morning, earlier than he would usually. The sofa had been surprisingly comfortable, but curtains had remained open, and the soft morning sunlight didn't lend itself to staying asleep. Neither did the meowing cat that had been absent the night before.

Martin stretched his aching arms, cringing slightly at the cracking sounds from his shoulders. The cat had made himself comfortable on Martin's lap, but seemed displeased with his movement, leaping away and trotting off to another corner of the apartment. He re-buttoned his shirt, folded the blanket, and started to plump the cushions on the sofa as quietly as he could. It was instinct at this point, a response to calm the nerves that had been slowly growing since he woke up and realised he was not in his own flat.

He wanted to leave, but couldn't bring himself to go without saying goodbye or...

His eyes landed on the scraps of paper that he'd collected and replaced on the table after last night's events. There was a pen on the coffee table, so he grabbed it and began to write.

_Thanks for letting me stay._

Martin managed one line before drawing a blank. Did he address Jon, Georgie, or both? It was due to his panicking over this rather trivial aspect that he didn't hear the unsteady footsteps behind.

"Leaving so soon?" Martin jumped slightly, the pen making an inky squiggle to show it. He turned around to look at Jon, who was standing in the kitchen, one hand on the counter. Their hair had been pulled into what probably passed for a bun, and the tatty long sleeved t-shirt made them look small in a way Martin had never seen before. He was so used to seeing Jon in layers, the wrinkled shirts and the sweater vests, and even though they'd ended up shirtless yesterday, this somehow felt more personal. They were vulnerable.

"Yeah...got to get to work." There was a silence as both of them acknowledged the untruth behind Martin's words. 

Jon broke it, voice low and serious. "I would...prefer it if you didn't tell anyone where I am." Something passed over their eyes. "Not- not that you would, I trust that you wouldn't, I just don't want..."

"I understand, Jon."

They'd trailed off, but Martin knows what they mean. Jon doesn't want the whole Archives at Georgie's door. Or the police.

  
Martin took another look at his scrawling handwriting on the note. In a moment, he crumpled the paper and tucked it into his coat pocket.

"Give Georgie my best." He made his way towards the door, Jon unmoved from their place in the kitchen. "And Jon?"

Jon's eyes met his.

"Stay safe." With that, Martin opened the door and departed the building.

The cold air kept him awake and alert as he made his way to the nearest tube station, following the instructions Georgie gave last night. He didn't have time to go home, but the worst he would have to endure is maybe some suggestive comments from Tim about his clothing.

And in Martin's opinion, that was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> CW:  
> blood loss - Jon is kind of stabbed, and bleeds through their shirt and coat.  
> impromptu surgery - not described graphically, stated that Georgie stitches the wound
> 
> No graphic descriptions of blood, gore, or wounds.


End file.
